Hope
by Gryphon31
Summary: Carrying on with the burdens placed before them has never been easy for Dean or Cas, but maybe they can help eachother find Hope. Takes place in seasons 3 and 4.


Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural

* * *

"MARCO!" Dean yelled out to the evening sky as he stumbled across the parking lot. "MAAAARCO!"

He spun around, waiting for the fallen angel.

"This was a cry for me, but I do not understand. My name is not Marco." Castiel stood close by. He frowned as Dean stumbled toward him, "What happened? You are acting like you got hit by an archangel, yet you display no injuries."

" 'sall good." Dean slurred, "You're supposed to say polo. It's a game, Cas. You yell out Marco and the people you are looking for call back polo and you find them. Didn't you heavenly types ever play games?"

Cas frowned, ignoring the game comment. "Are you drunk?"

"Nooooo." Dean grinned, before lurching forward. He squeezed his eyes shut, as though he was deep in thought, rethinking his answer. "Maybe. God, maybe I should let Michael in now to deal with all this instability."

"That would be…" Cas didn't know how to finish his sentence, so he allowed it to trail off. Fortunately, his drunk companion filled in the gaps for himself.

"Nah. Just 'cause I might be drunk don't mean I'm easy. 'Sides, Mike won't chew out Sam the way I'm supposed to." Dean grinned, unusually happy at the idea.

"Where is Sam? And what are you doing out here anyways?" Cas asked, looking around. They were in a store parking lot in the middle of nowhere.

"Sammy left the bar and took my car, and won't be back 'til morning." Dean looked pleased with his rhyming before the grin slipped off his face. "He's probably with that demon chick, Ruby, doing God knows what to who knows who. I should've stopped him."

"What are you doing here?" Cas asked again.

Dean looked around, examining his surroundings. "I don't know where I want to go. The road just keeps stretching out in a set path, but all that path leads to is death, and that's not what I want, so, I decided to set my own path, but I don't remember where I parked the motel." Dean explained earnestly.

"So you called me here because, why exactly?" Cas frowned, looking for purpose.

"I don't…"

"I'm an angel, Dean, I don't have time for this." Castiel turned to leave.

"Cas, don't leave me here. I'm all alone and I'm drowning in everything that I do, everything that I want to do, and everything I'm supposed to do. You pulled me out of hell. Can't you save me now?"

Cas sighed, "Don't do this to yourself, Dean. It will only lead to trouble. I pulled you out of hell, and now you can take care of yourself."

"I'm still in hell, Cas. My brother won't talk to me, the apocalypse is supposed to be happening soon, and you want one thing from me, while the people I have known my whole life want something else, and no one is bothering to ask me what I want." Cas's borrowed heart went out to the young man. He looked so desperate, wanting nothing more than to know what to do, who to follow.

"What do you want, Dean?" he asked.

"I don't know, man. Another shot of whiskey for starters, but they kicked me out," There was a pause of silence as Dean continued to think, "I just don't know what to do."

The brokenness Cas saw in Dean, he had seen before in his brothers. Lucifer had been so beloved by some of them that without him, they became lost, still desiring to follow orders, but missing the brother they loved. It crippled them emotionally, and they became nothing more than robots, following heaven's orders with no true thoughts of their own. Compared to that brokenness, Castiel was a philosopher, thinking deep thoughts and asking questions where they ought not be asked. Unlike the angels, who broke down in their pain, Dean kept trying to function, though he was so injured. Cas did the only thing he could think of to offer comfort. He would not tell Dean what to do, though he did have his own ideas of what that would be, and he did not attempt to solve his problems. Instead, he wrapped his arms around him in an embrace, the ultimate comfort of the angels.

"You're so warm, Cas." Dean commented. He even felt frail and unstable in Castiel's arms, but that also could have been due to the intake of alcohol.

"My apologies." Castiel apologized, "My wings automatically folded over you, and their celestial heat energy is also warm."

"Don't be. It's nice." Dean replied, sounding partially asleep.

Of course the angels would use their wings in an embrace. As the strongest appendages on their beings, the arms were used mostly for stability, their wings were what offered comfort; yet another reason why these humans were so frail, having only arms and legs. As frail as they were, though, they showed strength the angels did not have, or perhaps it was stupidity, that drove them to stand in the way of preplanned events, to not stop fighting, even though the outcome was inevitable.

Dean's head lolled to the side as he fell asleep in the arms of the angel. Maybe that was their point; that there had to be another outcome, that not everything could be set in stone.

Castiel snorted at his own thought processes. Uriel and the others were right. These hairless apes were stupid, and infected everything they came in contact with their optimism.

Cas traveled to Dean's motel automatically, setting him down on his bed and pulling the covers over him.

Stupidity and stubbornness. That was all this entire silly attempt to stop the apocalypse was. It was going to happen, and fighting against it wouldn't change a thing. But yet, part of Cas wanted to believe that there could be another way, that this human he had dragged out of hell could be right, and that maybe, just maybe, the end would not come. This feeling overwhelmed Castiel as he entertained the idea. It was as powerful as it was unrealistic, but as he experienced it, he understood why Dean would keep fighting. Hope was strong, and to lose it would be devastating. Now that he had it, he did not want to let it go.

* * *

-Several months later –

* * *

Dean jumped as Cas slumped into the wall. "Marco."

"Cas, what the? Are you still drunk? It's been like three days since you were sober, man. You might want to think about laying off for awhile. We need you." Dean used the lecturing voice he normally saved for Sam.

"Yes, completely. MARCO!" Cas yelled louder.

Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion, but he decided to play along. "Polo. I'm right here Cas."

"I'm not looking for you." Cas replied, pushing him aside, again calling out "MARCO!"

"God's not coming, Cas." Dean reached for the angel, but he kept walking.

"I'm not looking for…" Cas huffed, his frustration and unsaid anger leaving more of an impression than words could, "I'm trying to find hope. It always seems to be bouncing between you and Sam, so I was hoping it would share. I want it back."

"There's always hope, Cas, but you believe it for it to be there." Dean watched as the angel faced him, looking completely overwhelmed.

"How?" He asked. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and his eyes formed twin pits of despair, desperately wanting to believe that everything could work out, but also having to deal with millennia of orders that told him the apocalypse would bring the end.

Dean could offer no words; in truth, he didn't know, but he believed, and that was the most he could offer. He embraced the angel, offering comfort to the one who dragged him out of hell, and helped keep him alive in the hellish world he was in now.

He was warmed as the angel returned his embrace, and for some strange reason, he was sure that he was wrapped in angels wings, but that was just crazy talk, right?

"Your game does work, Dean."

"What, Marco Polo?"

"I tried to find hope, and hope was brought to me by the one who called polo." Cas articulated.

Dean frowned, "Right, but seriously, nothing but water for you. We need you back. I need your help."

"Fine." Cas grumbled only partially coherent. Dean grunted in surprise as he supported more of the angel's weight.

"Cas?" Dean asked, trying not to drop him. He could feel the angel softly breathing in and out. Dean pulled him over, setting him down gently on one of the motel beds. One second the angel had been awake; the next, he was dead to the world.

At rest, his normally stern features appeared softer, and in sleep, the abandonment he felt also left his face, leaving him appearing peaceful. He was a soldier, and he had been fighting for so long; longer than Dean could comprehend, but every soldier had a breaking point, and Cas had finally hit his.

Dean had plenty of issues with the angels, but their sense of purpose and even their drive to follow orders, while proving to be a pain for him, was something he missed about his father. His father had once given him purpose and clear orders to follow, and he had never wanted to question those. When he lost his father, he had Sam. He had Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo, even the Impala to remind him. There was a grave to go to, and places that reminded him of Dad.

Castiel lost his father. He lost his orders, he lost his brothers, and he lost his sense of purpose. He had no one to remember with, no pictures, no location, no grave site. He was left with nothing, and he hit his breaking point as he was forced to kill his family. Dean watched Cas shiver in his sleep, and pulling the covers over him, Dean said a quick prayer to a God he knew existed, but believed didn't care, to care for a moment and give Cas some rest, some peace. He deserved it, didn't he? If he was going to be abandoned, at least protect him for a moment. Angels don't usually sleep, but this one was, and give him some comfort.

The prayer ended, and Dean was relieved to see the trembling stop. The covers had worked. Well, that or God, so most likely the covers. Dean again studied Cas' face. The muscles stayed relaxed, and there was even a light snoring. He would need time to recover, if angels even could recover, but Dean believed that was a possibility with Cas. After all, he had already done something atypical of an angel; he fell asleep in human arms.


End file.
